r way."

"And if the other way does not succeed, either, mother?" said Nicholas.

"There is one which always succeeds," replied the widow.

Suddenly the door opened, and Martial entered. It blew so strong without
that they had not heard the barkings of the dogs at the return of the
first-born son of the felon's widow.

CHAPTER V.

THE MOTHER AND SON.

Unaware of the evil designs of his family, Martial entered the kitchen
slowly.

Some few words let fall by La Louve in her conversation with
Fleur-de-Marie have already acquainted the reader with the singular
existence of this man. Endowed with excellent natural instincts,
incapable of an action positively base or wicked, Martial did not,
however, lead a regular life: he poached on the water; but his strength
and his boldness inspired so much fear that the keepers of the river
shut their eyes on this irregularity.

To this illegal occupation Martial joined another that was equally
illicit. A redoubtable champion, he willingly undertook--and more from
excess of courage, from love of the thing, than for gain--to avenge in
pugilistic or single-stick encounters those victims who had been
overcome by too powerful opponents.

We should add that Martial was very particular in the selection of those
causes which he pleaded by strength of fist, and usually took the part
of the weak against the strong.

La Louve's lover was very much like Francois and Amandine. He was of
middle height, stout, and broad-shouldered; his thick red hair, cropped
short, came in five points over his open brow; his close, harsh, short
beard, his broad, bluff cheeks, his projecting nose, flattened at the
extremity, his blue and bold eyes, gave to his masculine features a
singularly resolute expression.

He was covered with an old glazed hat; and, despite the cold, he had
only a worn-out blouse over his vest, and a pair of velveteen trousers,
which had seen considerable service. He held in his hand a very thick,
knotted stick, which he put down beside him near the dresser.

A large dog, half terrier, half hound, with crooked legs and a black
hide, marked with bright red, came in with Martial, but he remained
close to the door, not daring to approach the fire, nor the guests who
were sitting at table, experience having proved to old Miraut (that was
the name of Martial's poaching companion) that he, as well as his
master, did not possess much of the sympathy of the family.

"Where are